


dead dove: do not eat

by YunJun



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Cannibalism, Descent into Madness, Gen, Isolation, Starvation, Torture, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YunJun/pseuds/YunJun
Summary: Takizawa Seidou dies. Then he wakes up (he wishes that he didn't).
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	dead dove: do not eat

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for all sorts of disturbing themes.

Sheer undeniable wrongness was coursing through Seidou’s veins. It is fogging up his mind, covering the world in a sluggish haze. Bit by bit the outside world is fading away into a puddle of sickly sweet syrup. He can still see but for every passing second keeping his eyes open seems like more of an impossible task. So he focuses on the physical sensations in a feeble attempt to stop reality from slipping through his fingers like sand. Tries to understand what is happening to him.

The metal bed frame is as cold as death under his whitening knuckles. Cold enough to burn, and he is gripping it hard enough that he can’t feel his fingers. The air is raw and cold against his clammy skin; a flimsy hospital gown does little good for keeping warm. He twitches, can’t stop shaking.

A glove-clad hand is holding a steady grip of his shoulder. He fears the man looming above him with a deceivingly gentle smile, wants to draw away. But the heavy feeling in his limbs won’t go away and he finds that he can’t wrench himself away when his body refuses to obey him. So he just sits there, sweating and shaking, all of his efforts spent entirely on not passing out. Kanou talks calmly, tells him about the OWL experiments, about the failures and the 63 dead investigators and yet he is alive. Alive, alive, why is he still alive?

Nausea twists in his gut cutting through the slow stupor and he jerks forward, retching. His throat burns as he coughs, sputters and chokes up his partially digested dinner. His stomach contracts violently, forcing everything up and out. His face is white and dripping sweat, tears, and bile. The nausea is easing up, giving way to exhaustion and Seidou sinks to his knees resisting the urge to press his good hand to his face. As he leans forwards the last of it dribbles from his lips and his stomach turned over one final time. He dry heaves now when there is nothing left to go and his throat is aching, stinging, burning with the acidic aftermath. He can’t stop shaking, a tremor that bleeds through his skin and goes all the way into his bones.  
The world spirals away into nothingness before his eyes and his last thoughts is a feeble hope that this is all a bad dream.

When Seidou wakes up again he is alone. Still lying on the same cold, hard floor, the side of his face feeling numb. Pushing himself up to a seated position takes far more effort than it should so when he is finally sitting upright he is panting and sweating, and has to lean on the stone wall for support. He brushes a hand against his forehead trying to tidy his bangs because he can feel them sticking to his face, only to immediately pull back when he discovers that it is still covered in vomit. It clings to his matted hair, stale traces left on his cheek. The floor was as filthy as it had been when he fainted earlier- how much time had passed since then? The sour smell makes him gag and it takes everything he has to avoid a repeat of earlier. He doubts his stomach has anything left to throw up though.

Overwhelmed with repulsion and the seemingly ever-present nausea Seidou somehow gathers enough strength to stand up, still supported by the wall. Surveying the room (cell, his mind supplies him) his eyes wanders from the wall, to the bed, over to the no doubt locked door, and then continues to the second door. This one is made out of the same dull metal as the first one but it is smaller, and cracked open just enough for Seidou to realize that it isn’t locked. He doesn’t know what to expect, but the moment he lays eyes on it something almost like hope flares up. He doesn't know what he is hoping for: something, anything that can help him get away from this place. He is left sorely disappointed when it turns out to be a bathroom, barely large enough to leave room for a person between the sink and the toilet.

Under his feet the cracked tiles are cold and he staggers towards the sink, gripping it until his knuckles turn white and staring intently into the mirror before him, trying to ignore the traces of dried blood coating the dirty porcelain. This is when he finally gets a good look at his own face. He cringes, shakily reaching out towards the mirror, not sure that who he sees looking back at him is really Seidou Takizawa. But trembling fingers finally connect with cold glass, and he is forced to acknowledge that yes, that is really him. He chokes on a sob, stumbles back away from the mirror as if it would make what he sees real. But in the tiny space he doesn’t come far before his back hits the wall, and then he is sliding down until he is sitting on the floor with his dirty face buried in his knees, too exhausted to care about the revolting mess covering him even as a part of him reels in disgust at the feeling and the foul smell stings his nose.

‘Why me?’ he thinks. Then he says it aloud, as if that would give him an answer.

“Why me?” His voice is hoarse and it strains with every syllable, throat still aching. He can feel hot tears against his cheeks and it makes him lower his head further to curl in on himself and hide this shameful display of weakness, even as there is no one around to witness it.

It doesn’t feel real, none of it does. But the pain, the nausea, the foul smell, the feeling of cold stone against his back and the buzzing in his head, they are all too real for this to be just a bad dream. So Seidou clutches his knees until his nails are digging into skin and drawing blood, choking on his sobs as the truth of his situation finally sinks in.  
_____

“Please,” he begs and his voice sounds broken even to himself. He isn’t even sure what it is he is begging for anymore. For an end to this pain, for some obscure ‘help’ to come and for everything to turn out alright. He doesn't know what ‘alright’ is anymore. “No more,”

His inconsequential pleas drown in the buzzing of an electrical saw, metal blade glining sharply in the overhead lights. Covered in blood. His blood. He can feel it everywhere, slick liquid pooling underneath him on the table oozing freely from what had once been his arm. The first time Kanou’s saw had cut into his arm he had pulled away, away, away as far as the restraints allowed, struggling desperately trying to get away and the blood kept oozing until he thought it would never stop. He couldn’t angle his head enough to see it, but he knew all that was left of his hand now was a jagged, grotesque stump ending somewhere below his broken elbow.

Anguished screams pushed against his lungs, drowning out the air and choking him as raw, lacerating pain tore into his other arm. Shallow gasps for air and then it was too much, he couldn't even beg anymore so he screams and screams and screams with tears, snot and saliva mixing in a disgusting mess on his face, screams wordlessly, futilely. Screams through his burning lungs, through the bile rising in his throat, screams until he ceases to be a person and is nothing but sobs, shrieks and blood.  
________

Seidou tries not to think about it. That he has to eat eventually, that is. It is easy enough when there is nothing to eat. That changes the day after Kanou first came to collect him from the cell and bring him to the lab for a ‘medical examination’ (he had no idea medical examinations entailed having his limbs cut off and regrown).

He wakes up screaming. Shaking and sweating, he tears at the hospital gown to uncover his arms, running his trembling hands up and down his thighs frantically to confirm that they really are still there, attached to his body. Shallow breaths in and out, in and out, calming at the same pace as the movement of his hands does until he is breathing almost normally and slowly tracing the skin. It is not quite healed. The skin is paper-thin where it has recently grown back over torn muscles and mended flesh, the red of blood in his veins just underneath shining through resulting in an uneven pinkish discolouration. It feels as if a layer of him has been peeled away, and now he is left alone with his aching body and raw skin. Still he has legs. And arms.

The relief he feels at that though is quickly replaced by disgust- at himself, for that way of thinking. How can he possibly be feeling relieved in this moment when he knows the reason?

Seidou tuggs the hospital gown back down over his arms, pulling at the sleeves to cover as much as possible so he doesn’t have to look at the hands that no longer feels like his own. The poor excuse for a piece of fabric hikes up further on his legs when he yanks at it, so in the end he settles for hugging his knees close, curling in on himself and trying to ignore the way the damp air settles over him like the blanket he doesn’t have.

Lying like that, staring with empty eyes at the locked door he notices the change. An innocuous plastic brick standing by the door. There is a glass of water and a plate with,,, something on it. Seidou tires to recall if it was there before but comes up blank, so he concludes someone must have put it there when he was busy being unconscious.

His joints feel stiff when he unfurls from his little ball of misery, knees popping when he stretches out and cautiously approaches the door. The plate is so inoffensive looking where it stands, unmoving, waiting for him. The moment Seidou caught sight of it he was gripped by a sense of foreboding. A part of him recognised what it was immediately but that part was pushed to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to consider the horrifying posbbility, or linger on the implications of the sweet smell and the way it makes his guts twist around themselves. For every step he takes towards the door the alarm bells in his head rings louder until they’re almost deafening and his head pounds with a frightening buzz.

He doesn't want to pick it up, so instead he gets down on his hands and knees, pokes at the plastic brick carefully as if it would suddenly grow teeth and bite him. Then it hits him, the smell. It is sweet like honey, comforting and warm and it makes his stomach churn. Without thinking his tongue darts out, wetting his dry lips. Ah, his throat hurts so much from all the screaming he has been doing. Even as the broken vocal cords mend themselves back together the lingering echo remains clinging to his skin like engine oil, sticky and slick. He longs to appease the ache.

No, no, nonono! Seidou startles, retracting the fingers drumming against the tray and he digs his nails into the soft skin as if to punish his hand for its disobedience. He can’t remember reaching out in the first place, and that above anything else scares him. Subconsciously applying more and more pressure with his fingers until the skin breaks and a faint trail of blood trickles down his arm, the pain finally enough to force the jumbled thoughts fogging his mind to disperse.

Disgust wells up within him, growing stronger for every breath of cold, raw air as the saccharine smell pushes on his senses. A much too sweet scent now, bone chilling in its all encompassing presence. He can almost taste it sticking to his throat like rotting cotton candy, choking him as if instead of air it is syrup he is taking into his lungs with every inhale. He knows that he should move away from the door. Get up from the floor and retreat to the bed on the other side of the room. Lay down with his back turned to the room, ignoring the tray. But he can’t move. Seidou’s mind is winding around itself but his body remains frozen in place, trapped by invisible chains.

A part of him recognises that eventually he will move, one way or another. And his options are straining, straining, straining against his mind, the soreness in his tense body betraying his thoughts until he can’t think straight anymore. Fight or flight, but who is there to fight? Where is there to run to? The plate shakes in his trembling hands, red liquid trickling down Seidou’s wrist as he grabs it and throws it across the room. The impact as porcelain shatters against stone is deafening in the silence. Follow it is a sickening squelch as a sizable chunk of meat hits the floor, and shards of broken dishes rain down around it.

Like breaking a spell the crash brings him out of his stupor, putting an end to the multiple contradicting, fragmented thoughts that had been racing through his mind. The smell dissipates and finally he regains the ability to move, stiffly reaching out for the glass of water that was the only other thing on the tray. He brings it to his lips and drinks greedily, desperate to rid himself of the imaginary sweetness still clinging to the inside of his dry mouth. Drinks carelessly, and some of the water runs down his chin but he pays it no mind, gulping down the rest too quickly so that he almost chokes and has to cough it back up. Teary eyed he cranes his head back and swallows, drying his lips with the back of his hand once he has done so. Exhaustion overtakes him and finally Seidou slumps back against the door.

His throat is still aching.  
________

He spends some time slipping in and out of consciousness. Too exhausted to stay awake. Too fearful to stay asleep. His dreams seep into his reality until Seidou isn’t sure anymore if he is awake or asleep because it is all the same dark room regardless and maybe it doesn’t even matter anymore?

Then, after what could be hours or days, the lock to his door is undone and he looks up through the strands of hair falling in his face to see two men he does not recognise. They're wearing white lab coats and surgical masks are covering the lower parts of their faces. Behind them Kanou is standing with his arms folded behind him and an amicable smile. “Hello Takizawa.”

Seidou draws away from the door until there is nowhere to go, presses his back into the wall and glowers at the doctor. Of course Kanou was going to come back. It had been obvious from the start. Still Seidou had tried to not acknowledge this fact, as if denying it would bring him some sense of comfort.

“I see you have healed quite nicely,” Kanou’s smile remains in place but his eyes are devoid of any warmth. “As an artificial ghoul sustains external trauma their RC-cell pathways will expand at a remarkable rate in order to maintain the individual. In the case of Ken Kaneki I had to leave too much up to chance, and my experimental data suffered as a result. But now that I have you Takizawa, I will be able to collect data on the early development stages of an artificial ghoul’s healing factor.”

Seidou’s disoriented mind struggled for a moment to pierce together Kanou’s words into comprehensible sentences. But it didn’t take much thought to realise what it meant for him; Kanou intended to hurt him badly. The wall behind him digs into his shoulder blades as he tenses, trying futile to put more distance between himself and the doctor. There was nowhere for him to flee to. Fear, fear, fear courses through his veins leaving him clammy and cold. His heart rate speeds up frantically until it is beating so hard against the inside of his ribcage that it hurts.The walls of the already cramped cell seems to close in on him as the gloved hand of a stranger grabs his arm, and the fear intensifies but then it is accompanied with something else.

The delusion that there were any chance of things to turn around for the better as long as he stayed in this place was transparent at best, fragile like glass. Now it shatters, its sharp shards digging into his chest and tearing at soft flesh and he bleeds, bleeds red hot anger.

Seidou janks himself out of the gripp, taking a hold of the researcher’s hair and then he is pulling on it like he is trying to tear the strands from his scalp, kicking and screaming all the while. Kanou is in the doorway, mere meters away and Seidou is struck by the thought that he wants to tear the man apart so he lunges, but the other man grabs him from behind and twists his arm, pushes him to the floor and holds him there. Seidou screams again, trying to claw at the hands restraining him but they’re out of range, he is stuck like that and the floor bleeds into the walls and the ceiling and he can hear someone saying something but he can’t make out the words. Everything is blurring together, sights and sounds and the sensation of something heavy keeping him down spurring on his frenzy until Seidou can’t even distinguish his own words. He just knows that he is screaming, pure wordless, animalistic rage leaving his lips.

The next thing he knows his left eye is assaulted by a stinging pain. Instinctively he tries to shut it only to find that he can’t. His eye convulses uselessly, trying to push the needle away. Agony spreads like fire through his head when the syringe is shoved deeper into his eyeball, and salty tears sting behind his twitching eyelids. Hands jerk, trying to reach up and claw at the offending object but he is held down, hands pinned to the floor and no matter how much he struggles his hands remain trapped so he claws at the ground instead. His nails tears against stone until they break, blood pooling beneath him.

His struggles weaken as the drug starts to take effect. He can hear everything as if it is underwater, his stomach twisting like a current pulling him under until he is drowning and his sight is bleeding away, each moment stretching into the next and spinning around, around, around until finally his head hits the floor with a dulled thud. Seidou’s last thought before passing out is the fleeting hope that his struggle has bought him some more time.

He discovers that it hasn’t when he wakes up strapped to an operation table.  
________

In the beginning Seidou has been hyper-aware of everything around him, adrenaline giving the world an uncanny edge. But now the adrenaline is ebbing away and his thoughts grow fuzzier. It becomes increasingly difficult to follow up on a train of thought, to try and come up with a plan of escape or to even keep track of the time that has passed.

When he isn’t being subjected to Kanou’s experiments he is left alone in the dark cell with only his own mind to keep him company. How much time passes as he stares at the walls, Seidou has no idea. He is so tired nowadays, his vision is clouded by black spots and the ache in his left eye never fully goes away.

But none of that matters, not compared to the hunger. What had started as a feeling of hollowness in his chest had soon turned into a demand clawing at the insides of his stomach. The water here tastes stale and of rust, as if it had been sitting in the pipes for ages before he turns on the faucet (he tries not to think about how it might be because no one had been alive to occupy this cell in a long time). In the beginning he didn’t want to drink it, patiently waiting with a dry throat for the glass that came with the tray following every experiment. It was different; clearer, cooler. By now he has given up on waiting, drinks of the tepid water from the faucet in an attempt to keep the hunger pains away. It lessens them, but never works to completely pacify the monster.

Without fail every surgical procedure and experiment (or rather, the clinical sort of torture that Kanou had designated as such) is followed by him being thrown back into the dark, cramped cell and without fail there is a tray waiting for him with a glass and a plate on. He throws it, shatters the plate against the wall, throws the meat and shatters the plate against his head, lets the pain remind him of where he is and who he is. Uses the minute of clarity the action grants him to flush the meat down the toilet so that it is gone, because he doesn't trust himself anymore. Paces, paces, paces around in narrow circles, bites his nails until he can taste his own blood, stares into the mirror until he starts seeing double. Does anything and everything to try and get his brain to fucking work again and not think about it don’t think about it do not think about it do not think about how there is no way out of this hell and this will never end until the day I die and I should just die no one is coming because no one fucking cares do they and I am so so so hungry, I am so fuckinnngggggg hungry

Seidou thinks that his new organs are eating him up from inside, devouring his body until there is nothing human left. The hunger of a ghoul was terrifying in its all-consuming nature. Empty words on a page bled away before his eyes, visions of lectures distorted and mangled as though viewed underwater. Memories of knowledge, knowledge, knowledge, absolutely useless knowledge once the comfortable void between education and reality had been ripped away.

Hunger stopped being just hunger and instead turned into a cocktail of desperation, anger, fear and shame. Anger towards Kanou, towards Tatara, towards Aogiri for doing this to him. But amidst this anger there is a steadily growing part of him that resents everyone and everything. It brings what had once been good memories to the surface, calls to mind the faces of everyone Seidou loves one by one and colours them bitter. Oh, curse Mado’s ‘intuition’. Without it he would have never left to provide that absolutely useless so called backup. And yet she had lived, while he might as well be dead. Unfair. Unfair, unfair, unfair, unfair echoes spitefully through his mind like a childish mantra. He has too much rage boiling inside of him, to the point where it is seeping out the cracks of his fracturing self.

He never sleeps long, spends most of his time drifting in and out of consciousness uneasily, but when he douses off he dreams about food. Fresh fruit, with vibrant skin that comes apart under his teeth and sweet, velvety flesh. Fruit juice flowing like honey, coating his lips sweet and sticky and so absolutely delicious. He thinks about sinking a fork into tender chocolate cake, fresh out of the oven and still warm, can vividly see how the gooey middle seeps out like melted belgian truffle. Imagines the dark, rich chocolate coating his tongue thickly before sliding down his throat. Lifts another forkful, but something is wrong. Red liquid drips between the prongs of the fork into his lap. Sweetness dies on his tongue, turns to iron ashes that dribbles down his chin mixed with saliva and tears. He sits there staring at his hands and he feels the blood drip, drip, drip and for a moment he can’t quite believe it.

And then he screams. The sound takes up too much air, pushes against his lungs. He shoots up from the bed panting heavily, hands moving frantically all around him in search for something to hold onto. The metal bed frame crashes hard against his knuckles but he doesn't care, struggles to get a grip on it with slick palms and a shaking frame. He manages to grab at it momentarily but his wild scrambling send him toppling off the bed. For a moment Seidou feels suspended in the air as he remembers who he is, and then he collapses on the ground. Adrenaline still flowing through his veins make the pain hardly noticeable, but he finds himself almost grateful for the dull throb it leads to. The pain is the only thing that makes him able to separate reality from nightmare right now.

Because it was a nightmare, right? Seidou looks around slowly, heart still beating too fast, searching for any sign that it had happened. He can’t put faith in his own memories anymore, aware of how his psyche piece by piece have started to fail him. Nightmares, memories, visions and reality, by now Seidou lacks the tools to discern them from one another through the haze clouding his mind.

With a few staggering steps he makes it to the sink, feeling both dizzy and ill. Raises his head and it takes too much effort but he does it anyway, because he needs to see. Through the cracks in the mirror he sees crimson and momentarily the fear returns full force, drenches him to his very bones like ice water before he realises that the blood is his own, from the nosebleed he didn't even realize he had. He wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, comes up with a hand full of red, waning into pink at the smeared edges. Lets it fall to the side limply and touches his face with his clean hand, running along his cheek, down his chin, over his forehead. Only after every surface has been carefully examined does his shoulders slump in relief, and Seidou can’t stop the shaky giggle that slips past his lips. It dies momentarily, then comes back a little louder. He isn’t happy, but laughs anyhow, and it sounds awfully hollow in his ringing eardrums. Makes sounds to drown out the deafening silence. He had no idea silence could be so loud, could echo against the concrete walls with the force of crashing waves, like a current pulling him under.

He cups his hands, fills them with water and splashes it in his face. Repeats the action again and again until the water loses its pinkish hue, becoming clear again. Takes some more water and pours it over his head, proceeds to drag wet fingers through unkempt hair. They quickly get caught in the tangled mess. Seidou pulls, uncaring of the way it stings his scalp, pulls until his hands are free. Hair strands still cling to his fingers when he brings them into his lap. Knotts of brown hair, but that isn’t all. There are withish parts there too, the colour reminiscent of pale ashes, or the skin of cold corpses.

Seidou look at the mirror again, this time at his hair. Water drips from the split ends, and he feels it soaking into his hospital gown uncomfortably, and indeed. The colour is uneven. Cinnamon colour intercepted by stands of bone-white, some middle ground that looks like grey. It is like a toddler's drawing, nonsensical scribbles wherein several spots of the paper had been left blank. It is longer than he remembers it being. But then again, at this point even standing in front of a mirror Seidou isn’t sure what he looks like, or what he had ever looked like.

He regards the dark eyebags, the hollow eyes with whites that are more red than white from broken blood vessels, and the paper thin skin covering his gaunt features. Lets his gaze wander to the too-prominent cheekbones, down to the collarbones making visible dents through the thin fabric. It doesn’t feel like the person he is looking at is Seidou Takizawa, no. But he can’t remember clearly anymore what Seidou Takizawa is supposed to look like. Sneers at the mirror, at the pathetic reflection of a familiar stranger.

He knows that his days are numbered.  
________

Red seeps through the fabric. It has become a growing spot that stretches outwards from his stomach like a spider spinning its web. Seidou think that he is like the insect caught in a spider's web, which only ensnares him tighter to reward his futile struggles.

Gingerly he lets his fingers run over the bloody spot, noting that it is still painful to touch. It is a different kind of pain than the dull ache that comes with memories of past agony. Now the pain is raw like a fresh wound, digging into his stomach and oozing blood with every breath he takes. Sitting up just makes it even worse, but when Seidou has finally reached the position of half-lying against the wall he is far too spent to think about moving again. Slowly he pushes the hospital gown up, only to realise that the fabric is clinging tightly to his wound, unwilling to move without applied force. Seidou tilts his head back, hitting the wall with a dull thud. He is so tired, doesn't want to look, or feel, or think about it anymore. Everything Seidou knows about first aid tells him that he needs to asses the damage, and put pressure on the wound to prevent himself from bleeding out. But the rational part of his mind is fading away rapidly, and his exhausted self wants to leave it like that. With the wet fabric clinging to whatever mangled mess is left of his stomach much the same way his bangs are clinging to his clammy forehead. Wants to lean his head further into the wall until the concrete swallows him up completely and just fall asleep and never wake up again.

Why is it not healing like usual? Without having eaten, he supposes that this is the results. By now starvation has pushed his body to the far extent that even a ghoul’s healing factor can’t stabilise it. How many liters of blood was it you could lose before you died? Seidou knows that he knows this, but he can’t remember right now. Inside of his head there are fluffy clouds of cotton that leaves no room for thoughts, and they grow and expand until he thinks they are going to make his head explode.

He lets his head loll to the side. He should check on the wound. Just for a moment he will close his eyes first. To gather strength. Just… for a moment.

The last thing he sees before he passes out is a plastic tray sitting by the door. A glass of water and a plate of meat. He doesn’t even have the energy to feel disgusted.  
________

He wants it. No, he doesn’t want it. Needs it. Would rather die, but he’d do anything anything at all whatever it is doesn't matter anymore if it will make it all just go away but he would never he is a human, he is an investigator he is, he is, he is so hungry.

Since he woke up Seidou has been biting his nails until he ran out of nails to bite, and then he switched to peeling the skin around his fingers off with his teeth. It started bleeding long ago, and just like the wound on his stomach it refuses to heal. The air is heavy with the scent of blood and pus leaking from the laceration, seeping into the fabric of his already filthy clothes.

He is freezing to his very bones, yet he can feel a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin. How long had he been passed out? Seidou has no idea. Just knows that sleep did nothing to make his condition better; now he feels feverish, and even more dizzy than before. If he could just have some water… he is too weak to get up and walk the steps required to reach the tap.

A cast glance to the door again, where he told himself to not fucking look. Why did he say that? Right, there was a glass of water there. Seidou will just go over there and have the water, and then he will feel so much better and this mental fog will surely go away.

He gathers all of his strength to push himself away from the wall, up to his knees. A jolt of pain shoots through him like an electric shock and Seidou bites his lip to choke back a scream. Bites hard enough to tear skin and he can feel the blood dribble down his face, slick and warm against his skin. With every movement, it feels as if the wound will tear open and spill his innards on the floor. So he presses a hand to his stomach and with the other hand on the ground he inches forward. Step by stumbling step, it is at a slow pace he drags himself along the floor until he reaches the door. He can’t move the hand pressing against his stomach so he crawls the other one forward until his fingers get a grip on the tray. It rattles under his trembling fingers.

He never realized before just how pale he was. But against the vivid red his bony fingers might as well be those of a corpse. Pretty, pretty red. Smells so sweet, like strawberry jam and fresh cherries. In the summer his mother had used to buy fresh strawberries and make homemade jam. The smell would waft through their apartment. The distant memory brings a vacant smile to his face. But it was too cool to be summertime. This was an odd year, with odd temperatures and an unusually cold floor. Why am I on the floor? This isn’t his apartment. This is a cell, a concrete cage wherein he is being kept as an experiment by Kanou. Kanou, Kanou A, Kanou Aki,,, something. He can’t recall the doctor’s name. Momentarily, he can’t recall his own name. Fuck, what was his name? It doesn’t matter. Everything that matters is the flesh, blood, meat, food, food, food, it's just food and he wants food and there is food there and his fingers sinks into tender flesh, blood seeps under his nails just like when they were ripped off but it isn’t him that is bleeding it is the food that coats his fingers warm and wet and slick and sweet, it smells so incredibly sweet.

So disgusting, monstrous, let me die, delicious, delectable, inhuman, tasty, revolting, tempting tastytastytasty tASTY.

He is drowning in syrup, cotton candy sticking to his lungs where there should be air but there is no air only spun sugar rising in his throat so sour but sweet all the same like sour candies in open wounds and he can’t breathe it is so so so close, what is so so so close he forgot why did he forget it feels important but he can’t remember because he is drowning in the sweet sweet sweet smell oh god help me.

It is like watching a horror movie. He is floating above the scene, a heart full of dread as he watches what is his own body but not his own mind. Knows that he should stop, but it doesn’t feel like he is the one in control. It doesn’t feel like it is him that tears chunks of raw meat apart to devour greedily, yet he can feel the blood running down his wrists, can smell it, feel it on his tongue and hear the squelching sounds as he eats greedily, swallows without chewing, feels it sliding down his throat. The constant dryness that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he drank is finally stilling, like an itch he couldn’t scratch up until this moment.

When there is no more meat to eat he scoops up the blood with his fingers and sticks them in his mouth, savouring the taste . Licks the plate clean and proceeds to run his tongue along thin wrists hungrily. Laps up the last of the gore in a frenzy, as if it will disappear the moment he stops. Maybe it will.

And then there is nothing more to eat. Just a clean plate, an untouched glass of water and a man who has run out of steam, collapsing against the wall panting heavily. His mind is still hazy, but lucidity is returning to Seidou at an alarming rate. What he had just done. It didn't feel real. Not yet. Please. He wants the exhaustion back; wants to pass out and wake up and hope it was just a dream and and and. And what then?

After weeks? (months? he doesn’t know) of starving, 

“No no no no no,” he muttered incoherently, desperately, a hand smoothing through his hair as his body rocked back and forth. His skin tingled with the phantom feeling of blood, the taste still distressingly persistent on his tongue. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… Seidou tears his nails against his scalp, pulling hair and scratching skin as if it would tear the sensations away. The wound in his abdomen is mending itself back together at unnatural speeds, stinging and itching in the healing process and that is when it finally sinks in. What he has done.

Seiodou stands up, and his limbs are aching in protest but his mind is a desperate haze. For a moment his vision turns black, and he sways unsteadily until he puts a hand against the wall to stabilise himself. Then he pushes away and stumbles towards the bathroom.

Underneath his knees the tiled floor is cold and hard, uninviting. He feels so out of place, feels so unreal again. He isn't sure that any of this is really happening, but he knows what he needs to do. He needs to purge himself of this guilt, until he's back to feeling empty, clean, even remotely human again. Technically he knows how to do it, even if he has never done it before. Two fingers might be enough? He wasn't sure, but he starts off like that, shoving them into his throat and feeling the wet muscles contract around them as he struggles to breath.

It feels like a bottle cap opening when something surges upwards and Seidou gags and coughs, pulling his fingers out. Acidic spittle comes up alongside them. It's not solid, it's a pinkish liquid but it's filled with chunks of undigested meat. He gags again, purely at the sight. But it's not as much as he thought it should be. There were more, resting uneasily in his stomach. With a sob Seidou leans forward again, resigned to another round of purging.  
_______

It went on like that, in a seemingly endless cycle of binging and purging. Losing himself to the ugly nature of his current biology, only to regain his sense of self and be wracked with the intense guilt and shame from his actions. He tried so hard to resist it in the beginning. Went without food for multiple weeks until he was a delirious, weak mess once again. But as time passed the time between his binges grew shorter and shorter, until he found himself anticipating the next time he would get food with a horrid mix of excitement and dread.

Vomiting had become so routine that Seidou did it as efficiently as he had once checked his emails. He would stick his fingers down his throat and force himself to purge his sins. It had become easier and easier for each time he did it and by now the mushy, half digested remains of what had once been a person came up almost effortlessly. When it came to vomiting he became a pro. A foul, disgusting, repulsive pro, who’s regular expulsion of stomach acid covered ‘food’ had started to wither away at his teeth and gums.

He wanted to hate his captors, blame them for everything that had happened. And he did hate them, sure. But there was an insistent, ugly voice in the back of his head that told him that the only one to be blamed was himself. After all he was the one who continued the endless binge-purge cycle that had become his life. He knew that in the past he had gone weeks without eating anything but now no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t help the ravenous monster that had taken residence within him. Because he didn’t have enough self control, lacked the conviction, that he had lost the essential humanity somewhere along the way. He was here, in this situation because of his own weakness and stupidity.

Seidou hated intensely, but the only thing he truly hated was himself.  
_______

There is a gloved hand dragging along his upper teeth and Seidou is tempted to snap at it and bite, but he knows that the repercussions aren’t worth it. Kanou retracts his hand, frowning lightly, looking for all in the world like a disappointed parent.

“Your teeth are in a horrid state. It is quite the nasty habit you’ve picked up isn’t it Takizawa-kun?” Seidou glowers back, but doesn’t respond. He wants to go back to his cell to escape whatever pain that is sure to be inflicted on him. He doesn’t have the energy to care about his own weakness, not when his mind is brimming with horror scenarios.

“It seems even a ghoul’s accelerated healing factor does not have an effect on the enamel since it is not living tissue. They should, however, regenerate properly were they to be removed…” There is an implication there, one that leves Seidou fearful of what is going to happen. He should be used to it by now, but the fear never truly goes away. He would do almost anything to avoid Kanou’s clinacal torture poorly disguised as ‘experiments’ and that rings true to this day.

He didn’t bite before. Because as much as he hates the doctor, nothing was actually happening. But now he snaps at the hand that reaches out. It’s a weak resistance, hampered by the uncomfortable drug induced haze. A metal contracption is strapped tightly to the operating table, and to himself by extent. It is cool against his skin, digs into the gums and it makes him unable to close his mouth, effectively hindering him from trying to bite Kanou again. The man in question has turned his back to Seidou and is raffling through the tools he keeps on a table next to him. When he turns back he is holding something that looks akin to pliers.

“This is an extraction forcep,” Kanou explains, as if those words were supposed to mean something to Seidou. “It is used to extract teeth by grabbing them, then rocking back and forth along with a twisting motion to sever the gum tissue from the tooth in question, then pulling it out.”

Seidou tries again to snap his teeth, fruitlessly as the restraints stop him. Kanou shrugs at his struggles, and grabs one of his for-teeth with the forcep. At first Seidou feels nothing but then the instrument moves, tearing at his ligaments. It sends a jolt of burning pain through his entire body. He shivers as the sensitive nerves are severed. Restraints keep his head in place, but it doesn’t stop him from struggling against the device. His struggle only intensifies the pain, drawing agonised screams from his throat. They bubble up in incomprehensible noises, wordless pleading. Kanou twists the pliers again, and a sharp breaking noise rings out.

Then he pulls. And Seidou can feel the last of his gum-tissue being wrenched away agonisingly slowly. For a moment the pain lessens as Kanou relaxes his force, but it is followed by another sudden pull, harsher and this time the tooth is yanked out fully. Cold air rushes in to fill the gap at the same time that hot blood bubbles up, filling his mouth with a coppery sweetness. The sensitive nerve endings are exposed, burning and his screams turn to low sobs.

Kanou puts down the tooth on the table, then turns back towards Seidou with his default amicable expression. “Now then, let’s continue with the next one.”  
_______

The concrete walls surrounding him feels almost secure. It is a pain-free promise, just the gnawing emptiness and that emptiness is miles better than the seemingly never ending agony that plagues him any time he is outside of the cell. He has taken to calling it his ‘room’ with loving sarcasm.

Of course, there is another factor, one he doesn't want to acknowledge. Being back here means food. Food he is going to purge full of guilt and shame, but food nonetheless. The moments sprang eating are moments where everything else in the world goes away, and he can feel almost alright. And afterwards there is the relieved post-vomiting exhaustion and for once he can actually fall asleep feeling a sick sense of satisfaction. It is a gross, revolting routine that Seidou has created for himself.

But not today. It shouldn't upset him, but it's just so wrong. Nothing, nothing at all to eat. His teeth have already grown back, but his room remains empty save for himself. He thinks that it might be the punishment for making himself throw up until his teeth rotted away. But he still waits, looking intensely at the bolted shut door as if that is going to make someone magically appear and feed him. He starts counting the seconds because there isn't much of anything else to do.

Seconds turns into minutes, turns into hours, turns into days, which might even be weeks. Eventually Seidou loses the ability to keep track, and the dirty stone walls start to close in on him. Counting was slowly driving him insane, or was it the hunger? No one comes to bring him away to conduct experiments anymore. It should be a relief but it just meant he was left alone with his thoughts. The hunger was clawing his body apart, agonising tears along the stomach lining that left him shaking and curling in on himself. He can't understand how he went so long feeling like this before, when there was food right under his nose (he can't understand how he lost all his self control and sense of righteousness).

When it gets too overbearing he starts gnawing on his own fingers, biting them down to bloody stumps and watching in morbid fascination how they grew back. “Fantastic! Your regenerative abilities have increased monumentally!” He croaks in a hoarse imitation of what he imagines Kanou would say.

“Fuck off,” he replies, shaking. He can't tell if it's from unshed tears or from holding back laughter. He wonders if Kanou intends to leave him here to die of starvation. As a punishment for his actions. Because he couldn’t be what he should have been. Because he was weak.  
_______

Any amount of time could have passed, for all that Seidou was aware. Two days, or two weeks, or anything else for that matter. The hunger was tearing him apart from the inside out, and he spent all of his time slipping in and out of a half asleep dreamlike state. He knew that he had started hearing and seeing things, because at least half of what he experienced were impossible scenarios.

He thought that he had started hallucinating with his other senses too, when he could feel the smell of something distinctly,, food like. But then the bolts that kept his door locked shut shifted with a creek that was painfully loud in invading the silence. Someone was there, on the other side of the door. Someone was opening the door (Seidou’s mind was so occupied by what was happening, and by the hunger pangs that still wracked his body to stop and think of the implications that his first thoughts had been ‘food!).

The moment the door opened Seidou saw a person, that didn’t fully register as a person, that turned to the vivid red of blood in a second as he was over the researcher. The man was still screaming, but it was white noise to the symphony of ripping flesh and breaking bones. Seidou was on top of the wailing man, pinning him to the floor. He placed a hand on his throat, pushing the thumb down. Feeling the body underneath him convulse, and he applied more force to his hand until his fingers went through the soft flesh. Soft, like freshly baked bread. Gooey, like jam.

The sound of bone crunching as he wrenches an arm from its socket fills him with a sick sense of satisfaction. He held it high, like a trophy, letting blood dribble down his face. It was still warm, but growing colder by the second in the freezing cell. And he was so cold, always so cold. it was frantic, the struggle to devour as much as possible before the body cooled down fully. He dug a finger into the eye socket, popping the eye out. It squeaked, then deflated as clear liquid pooled out coating his fingers. Seidou licked it off from his fingers. Sweet like syrup, he thought, and then continued to trash the corpse beneath him.

The high had been a rush unlike anything he had ever experienced before. The thrill, the sense of control, the pleasure, the relief. It made him laugh uncontrollably, maniacally as reclines against the wall chewing on a piece of flesh.

But the high meant a low. The rush meant a comedown. And when it finally hit, it hit harder than it ever had before. This wasn’t a slab of meat on a platter, this was a living, breathing human. Had been a living, breathing human. And Seidou had killed him. And he had enjoyed it. How could any human do that? But the guilt meant nothing when it couldn't even stop him from swallowing that last piece. So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

His knees barely connected with the hard floor before he had two fingers down his throat. He forced himself to breath normally, and finally the sense of relief came over him when he started to cough up his half digested meal. The action of emptying himself comforted him in a way nothing else in this wretched hell hole did. It flooded him with a sense of satisfaction, reinforcing the crumbling idea that he was doing something right.

When all that came up was bile he knew that he was done. He flushed the toilet, wiped his mouth with one hand and rested his head against the wall, ignoring the tears running down his face. It was still fresh in his memory how this had ruined his teeth, and probably more, and how Kanou had pulled them out one by one. It makes him cry harder.  
_______

There is blood in his mouth. The pressure at the edge of his lips, the invading sickly sweet smell and the chewy texture, he is hyper aware of it all. The taste too, but that is what he doesn't want to think about. It is the only part about this he can't even pretend is unpleasant. It is rich, like dark chocolate, and juicy like ripe fruit, and velvety and it is so good. Even in his situation he feels the world melt away a bit, and so does his resistance. It is hard to breath through it, and eventually he caves and swallows.

The white haired ghoul steps back and Seidou is glad he is tied to a chain, because he doesn’t think he could handle a hospital bed right now. At least like this he can lean forward and cough, pinkish red saliva dripping down his chin. He wants to purge it all. Wants to empty himself, its the only way he can feel ok with this. But he’s stuck here, hand behind his back, coughing until tears are forming in his eyes.

“It is a shame to have to do this. It seems the problem isn’t to make him eat, but to keep it down. So this is a necessity, should I want to have any further success with my experience,” Kanou remarks calmly. As calmly as he watches the scene before him unfold. Tatara sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Why he is here, Seidou has no idea.

Kanou turns to him, “you see, if you keep this habit up this will have to continue. Do you want that?” Seidou shakes his head weakly, making the doctor smile. “Then you know what you have to do.”

He dosen’t want this. Never wanted any of this. But there is nothing he can do, nothing he could ever do. He never had a choice in the matter. He tried fighting it, and look where he had ended up. He nodded again, accepting Kanous' words. His throat feels raw and exhausted from the coughing and the crying burns his eyes. Seidou lets his head hang down, looking at the floor without really seeing anything.

Kanou says something, but Seidou can’t make out the words.In response Tatara makes an annoyed noise, sighs, and then Seidou can hear his footsteps leaving. First he thinks that this is it, and now he’ll finally be left alone for a little while at least. But then Tatara’s returns, carrying something, “Takizawa. Look at me.”

He does as he is told, movements slow with lethargy. Now he sees that Tatara is holding a glass of water. The man looks as emotionless as Seidou has always seen him as he brings the glass to Seidou’s lips, “drink.”

The water is cool, and it washes away some of the taste. Washes away some of the guilt. His throat hurts less, and it is the kind of water that doesn’t taste like stale and rusty pipes. Is this... kindness? Seidou doesn't know. It has been too long since anyone showed him even a fraction of concern. The action makes his head spin with thoughts, and makes something spark in his chest.

He knows the purging doesn’t just damage his teeth. Because teeth can grow back, if you pull them out, and Kanou will pull them out he knows that. No, it deprives him of any and all nutrients that the food could possibly have given him. He knew he would die continuing down that path, but he hadn’t minded. Had wanted to, even. But now, in this situation where he had been unable to make himself vomit the food has given him some of those essential nutrients. He can already feel the permanent stomach ache dulling just a little bit, and it scares him because it feels so good. And Seidou realises that he is in this situation not by anyone’s fault but his own. His stupid wishes to be a hero, his running after Amon, refusing what was offered to him until it made him sick. Tatara had never hurt him to the extent that Kanou had. And by that logic, wasn’t Tatara’s actions a kindness? Something that actually saved his life, by handling the situation properly when he had been too weak to do so. He doesn't understand how he hadn’t realized this before, but it is all clear to him now.

Everything around his feels unreal, his head is filled with cotton and there is a void in his heart. But he realises that he doesn’t have to fill that void. That it is the absence of feelings, that makes a person strong. That he can be strong. And wasn’t that all he ever wished for?

He searches the other man’s eyes, catches them. Looks at him, and it is as if he looked at him for the first time. “Thank you Tatara-san.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes the title is a pun on the fact that investigators are nicknamed doves, and that that sentence is used for something that contains stuff that can be deemed morally reprehensible without explicitly condemning said stuff.


End file.
